


Fourth Year.

by jexellan



Series: Hufflepuff!Grantaire [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Hogwarts AU, Hufflepuff!Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:56:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jexellan/pseuds/jexellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a reason he despises family events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fourth Year.

There’s a reason he despises family events.

_“Oh, look how gorgeous! Oh, you look just like your mother. And Ravenclaw prefect, too!”_

_“Carrying on the family tradition, I see! Excellent, excellent. I see a bright future ahead of you, child!”_

_“Oh yes, we’re very proud of her. She’s on the road to being one of the top contenders for Head Girl next year, mark my words!”_

_“Lovely! Oh, and what about your son? He’ll be going into his…what is it, boy, third year?”_

_“Fourth, actually.”_

_“Oh yes, silly me. And a Ravenclaw too, I’m assuming.”_

_“Hufflepuff, actually.”_

_“…Oh. Well. That’s nice.”_

_—-_

He’s just about done.

There’s a quiet knock at his door.

_“Door’s open.”_

His sister tentatively shuffles into the room, closing the door behind her quietly. It  _is_  past midnight, after all.

_“What are you painting?”_

_“Um…that’s a good question.”_

He honestly doesn’t know what it was that he was painting. He was just throwing some colors onto a canvas—reds, greens, yellows, blues. There wasn’t really a method to his strokes or color combinations. 

It was more out of stress relief than anything.

_“Pretty colors, though.”_

_“Yeah. I guess.”_

An awkward silence.

_“Grantaire…”_

_“What?”_

_“…I’m sorry.”_

_“What’re you apol—”_

_“You know exactly what I’m apologizing for.”_

He sighs, rubbing his face wearily, before remembering he had wet paint on his hand. Damn.

_“You haven’t done anything. You have nothing to be sorry about.”_

_“Still…”_

_“Sis, the only thing you’ve_ done _is be awesome. I mean, you’re a prefect, you have a perfectly clean record—”_

_“That’s not—”_

_“You get top marks in everything—”_

_“So do you.”_

A pause.

_“Well. I’m not wearing the right colors.”_

_“…It’s such a stupid thing. For Mum and Dad to be like this. Especially Dad.”_

_“Well. Not much I can do about it, is there?”_

_“…Maybe you could try talking to them?”_

_“Hah. That’ll go over_ great _.”_

 _“I’m_ serious _.”_

_“So am I.”_

_“You’re never serious.”_

_“I know. It’s one of my many wonderful qualities.”_

_“R…”_

_“…Okay. Fine. I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Okay.”_

—-

_“What’s so bad about Hufflepuffs?”_

_“…Excuse me?”_

_“I said, ‘What’s so bad about Hufflepuffs?’ Obviously there’s_ something _wrong with us, since you’ve pretty much stopped claiming me as your kid whenever I got Sorted.”_

Silence.

_“I mean, yeah, okay, I’m not a Ravenclaw, I get it, I’m like the first non-Ravenclaw in what, three generations?”_

_“Four.”_

_“Oh,_ forgive me _, four generations. I’m_ terribly _sorry—”_

_“Watch your tone, boy—”_

_“So yeah, I’m not a Ravenclaw, but why do I get the impression that the fact that I’m a Hufflepuff bothers you more than it would if I were a Gryffindor or Slytherin?”_

Nothing.

_“I just want a straight answer, damn it—”_

_“Because Hufflepuffs are useless!”_  
  
Silence. His father continues, ruthlessly.  
  
 _“Tell me, when have you ever seen a Hufflepuff do something_ meaningful _with their life? Success takes_ action _. It takes discipline, it takes intelligence, drive, ambition—and what do Hufflepuffs have? What does the Hat say about them? ‘Loyalty’? Bah! That’s just a nice way of saying you’ve got_ nothing _. Who’s going to take you seriously when you’re a Hufflepuff? Who’s going to take you seriously when you’ve got nothing to give?_ Who _?”_

More silence.

He doesn’t have an answer for that.

—-

He leaves a note for his sister before he leaves.

—-

He never wants to ride the Knight Bus again.

—-

He manages to scrounge up enough money for a tiny room at the Leaky Cauldron.

(It wasn’t quite enough, but Tom likes him, so he let it slide.)

—-

He doesn’t write to anyone.

—-

Jehan shoves him hard— _surprisingly_  hard for someone that tiny—when he sees him on the platform.

_“I haven’t heard from you all week!”_

He sighs, running a hand through his messy curls.

_“Well, about that…”_

(He doesn’t think he’s ever heard someone curse as creatively as Jehan does.)

—-

Jehan doesn’t mention anything to the others.

He’s grateful for that.

—-

Cosette brings a few other third year House mates to her Transfiguration sessions with him.

He starts bringing more food from the kitchens.

—-

A timid first year approaches him in the common room, asking if he’d help him with his Charms homework.

(Later that week, that same boy comes up to him and tells him he got top marks on his assignment.)

—-

Sometimes he doesn’t go to class.

His teachers would be concerned, but he’s still getting top marks on his assignments.

They also notice that a number of the younger Hufflepuffs are showing significant signs of improvement in class.

—-

He knows they don’t need help because they’re stupid, or useless, or helpless.

They just need help helping themselves.

—-

Courfeyrac asks about it one day in the library.

 _“What’s that all about?”_  he asks him as a second year Hufflepuff scampers away from the table after he had handed her a drawing.

_“Her mum’s in St. Mungo’s. I thought it would cheer her up a bit.”_

_“That’s fantastic. But I meant,”_  Courfeyrac leans forward until all four of the legs of his chair are on the floor again,  _“what’s with all of the little Hufflepuff munchkins flocking to you the past few weeks?”_

He shrugs.  _“Probably my animal magnetism.”_ He grins cheekily.

Jehan giggles.

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes, but presses on.  _“I’m serious.”_

_“I don’t know. Cosette told a few of her friends about how I was helping her with her Transfiguration homework, and I guess it kind of spread?”_

Jehan smiles.  _“Well, I think that’s wonderful. You’re like a mother hen, R!”_

He scowls.  _“Awe, shut it.”_

 _“You_ are _!”_  Courfeyrac snickers.

Well. He’s been called worse things.

—-

Christmas rolls around. 

This year, it’s just himself, Jehan, and Marius.

They sit in the common room playing Exploding Snap.

He enchants some paper snow flakes for a couple of first years.

—-

Jehan learned how to knit at some point, apparently, because his Christmas gift?

A black and yellow knit cap.

He raises an eyebrow at Jehan.

 _“What?”_  Jehan shrugs, smiling.  _“Those colors suit you.”_

He rolls his eyes, but smiles as he pulls it over his curls.

(He starts to wear it every day.)

—-

They find a way to sneak him into the next Hogsmeade trip.

Apparently Feuilly and Bahorel stumbled upon a passage that runs all the way from the castle to behind the Three Broomsticks.

—-

Bahorel is grinning.

_“A friend of a friend managed to snag this for us.”_

A bottle of firewhiskey.

Nobody but himself and Bahorel try any, though.

(He likes how it burns going down his throat.

And how when he drinks enough of it, he starts to forget about that sneer on his father’s face.)

—-

Courfeyrac mentions something about Enjolras throwing around the idea of starting a Squib rights activism group.

Jehan and Marius seem intrigued.

He rolls his eyes and copies down Charms notes for that third year who was sick in the hospital wing all week.

(It’s not that he doesn’t believe in Squib rights.

He just doesn’t think the Squibs would appreciate wizards swooping in to help their  _poor, hopeless souls._ )

—-

_“Mum asked about you in her last letter.”_

_“Huh.”_

_“I said you were doing well. Top marks. No detentions.”_

_“That’s nice.”_

_“…You don’t plan on going back, do you?”_

_“No.”_

—-

_“Hey, Bahorel.”_

_“What’s up?”_

_“You think that friend could get us some more firewhiskey?”_

Bahorel grinned.  _“Definitely.”_

—-

_“I wrote my folks. You’re coming home with me this summer.”_

_“Jehan,_ no _—”_

_“Not. Another. Word. They already set up another bed and everything.”_

_“…Thanks, Jehan.”_

_“No problem, R.”_

—-

He goes home with Jehan that summer.

They welcome him there with open arms.

—-

He hasn’t felt this at home anywhere in a long time.


End file.
